Changed Forever
by KreativeKristine
Summary: In this tribute to those touched by the September 11 attacks, Wheeler learns first hand how to deal with the loss of two loved ones.


Changed Forever

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story; I have just invited them into my imagination, and this story was the result. While stopping off in my mind, Gi, Kwame, Linka, and Ma-ti were provided with surnames while Wheeler had been given a first name (based on the disclosure of his first initial in "Greed Is the Word"). This is my tribute to those touched by the attacks of September 11.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001

It was another quiet morning on Hope Island, and there were no pressing problems or eco-emergencies to deal with that anyone knew of. The sun rose and baked the sandy beaches and lit up an azure blue sky that was sprinkled with small, puffy, white clouds. Gentle breezes stroked the landscape and caused the bird shaped wind chimes to ring outside Linka's bedroom window. The day was the picture of peace, and the morning looked as if it should be recreated inside a glass globe in which sparkles flutter about when shaken.

By 8:30 a.m., Linka Piatikova, Gi Zang, Kwame Shaa, and Ma-ti Kwevas had awoken and started to cook breakfast. The great room smelled of bacon and eggs, increasing the appetites of the four hungry youths. In the background, a 19 inch color television had been tuned into a Miami station that had brought the Today Show into their living area.

"The eggs are just about done," Gi announced as she scooped the yellow food onto her spatula and flipped them over. "I would say about five more minutes."

"Hold it a minute," Kwame said as he set five plates next to the stove, "Wheeler is not up yet. Should we not wait for him?"

"It is his own fault he over slept," Linka said, scooping the bacon onto a serving plate that was covered with a paper towel. "Nobody told him to stay up until after midnight cooking CD's."

"You mean 'burning' CD's, Linka," Ma-ti corrected as he set orange juice glasses onto the table. "He really loves it . . . almost as much as he loves to make films.

"That's true," Gi added, "getting him that burner for his birthday was the best idea we ever had. It was just what he needed to get interested in using a computer."

"Maybe he is up now," Ma-ti said as he decided to change the subject, not only because he did not want to see his friend miss breakfast, but because he was terribly hungry as well. "I will go and see if he is ready to come out and eat with us."

"If he is not, we will leave some eggs and bacon on the stove, and he can heat them up when he is ready, "Linka offered as she flipped the stove control into the off position.

The tantalizing aroma of the morning meal faded as Ma-ti made his way through the open doorway and down the pathway where the five residential huts could be found. The Girls' homes were to the left and were joined by a common bath, and Kwame and Ma-ti's were to the right, also with an adjoining bath. The larger hut at the foot of the path was Wheeler's, and he had a private bath. He had gotten his own bath because he was the only one who always played a radio while in the shower.

"Wheeler," Ma-ti called as he rapped on the closed door, "we are ready to eat now, are you coming out yet?" There was silence, not even the sound of an alarm clock or hustling feet scrambling on the wood floor. "Wheeler, are you awake?"

Ma-ti quietly opened the door and tip-toed inside the darkened room. The window shade was drawn to keep the morning sun from streaming in and falling upon Wheeler's pillow. The doorway had provided enough light to prevent Ma-ti from running into the bookcase that was used as a make-shift entertainment center. He crept past the center and computer desk before making it to the bed where the slumbering Jesse Wheeler lay, too tired to snore. With a gentle hand, Ma-ti tapped the blanket wrapped form until movement broke the silence.

"Huh?" Wheeler weakly yawned, still half asleep.

"We have breakfast on the table in the common room, and everyone is ready to eat," Ma-ti

whispered, looking down and meeting the blue eyes that appeared as slim slits of fatigue.

". . . Gimme time to brush my teeth and get dressed, "Wheeler croaked, freeing himself from the cocoon of baby blue sheets and gold, striped comforter and awkwardly coming to a sitting position.

Slightly disappointed at having to return to the table without the redhead who had been his surrogate big brother, Ma-ti sighed, ". . . We will leave your food on the stove, and you can warm it up." With that, he stepped out, leaving wheeler to get ready in private.

In her own hut, Gaia found herself in the perplexed state of mind that had been bugging her since that past Sunday. She had a feeling that something was wrong, but she could not put her finger on it. The eco-villains did not appear to be up to anything as far as she could tell, and human ignorance was not looking like an inadvertent threat either. What was wrong? All Gaia knew was that it was an uneasy feeling that after this day, life would be changed forever and the day's events, possibly touching one or several of the Planeteers very deeply. In the middle of the night, she sneaked into each Planeteer's hut and drew the power from their rings in order to call Captain Planet herself. She had summoned the superhero on the beach and told him that she needed him to stay very close to the Planeteers that morning.

Cap had just finished bathing in the ocean when he came to the Planeteers' common hut that housed their kitchen/living room and peeked in through the open window at the four. who were eating and talking among themselves.

"Everything looks normal," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in confusion. "I don't know why Gaia wanted me to keep my eye on them." He listened to them talking about past eco-missions or plans for their next vacation. Noticing the empty chair between Linka and Kwame, he observed, "Hmmm, I guess Wheeler over slept again."

Suddenly, his heart power told him to enter after he caught the looks of shock worn by the news anchors on the television. He ran in, not caring if he disturbed his friends' casual conversation

"Planeteers!" Cap shouted as he burst in a turned up the volume on the TV set, I think you'd better see this!"

The five watched in paralyzing horror as the reporters described something that had previously been unthinkable – a terrorist attack on the United States. For a few minutes they were rendered speechless, and they wanted to deny the veracity of these accounts. The United States had always been seen as a super power that could not be hurt. Now, the dazed nation had received a horrible wake up call from its complacency. It did not seem like reality to them, but it did not seem unreal either; nobody knew what to think.

"Bozhe moy . . ." Linka gasped, her eyes widening to the point where she did not dare to blink, "this is terrible."

"It looks like something from a horror movie," was all Gi could think to say.

". . . All those people. . . "Kwame muttered, "in the buildings and the airplanes . . . How could this happen?"

Cap just stood silently, brushing a single tear from his right eye with one finger, and letting out a heavy sigh.

Unable to comment on the horrific events covered on the news program, ma-ti simply said, "Wheeler . . . Does he know yet?"

"He may have friends or family that . . . "Gi failed to finish her sentence.

"Does he not play a radio in the bathroom when he is shaving or brushing his teeth?" Linka said as she brought up the possibility that Wheeler already knew what was happening and that he may not be taking it well.

In his hut, wheeler was throwing on a pair of jeans, a red T-shirt with the Planeteer logo on it, and denim vest when he noticed it was too quiet. The oscillating floor fan provided a steady hum that was easily tuned out, and his window was too far from the beach to invite the sounds of roaring waves into the room. Stepping into the bathroom to switch on the NOAA weather radio, shave, and brush his teeth, he was bothered by an eerie and uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. He turned up the volume, and a fuzzy radio station faded in... Wheeler tolerated the static that played over this small radio as long as a good song was playing.

"What the . . . "he mumbled as he discovered his 80's music had been replaced by news coverage. "I never listen to talk radio." He fumbled with the tuner and found that talk radio had overtaken every station he pulled in. He snapped the radio off, quickly brushed his teeth, shaved and ran to his bookcase where he reached for the remote that would activate his 13 inch TV/VCR combo. As the attacks were unfolding on the screen, Wheeler stood staring at the pictures and stories that either didn't sink in with him or floated through a mind in shock. When he heard the reporter say that it was the World Trade center that had been attacked, he froze, his mouth dropping open.

Cap had darted from the common hut when he heard the other Planeteers voicing their concern for Wheeler and how he would be taking the news... He had nearly approached the pyro-youth's hut when he heard a scream coming from the open window.

"Nooooo!" wheeler cried out. "This can't be happening!"

Cap threw Wheeler's door wide open and rushed in to find the 27 year old standing in front of the TV shaking and breathing shallowly. "Wheeler . . . "the hero said with fatherly tones in his voice.

The fact that Cap was there without having been summoned did not register with the panicked Wheeler. "Cap . . . . Tell me this isn't real," he begged, "Tell me this is Planetvision. We're having an eco-emergency, and Gaia patched the Planetvision through to my TV!" Seeing the somber look on Cap's face and feeling the warm hand rest on his right shoulder, Wheeler felt his heart sink. "No. No! No . . . please, god, No! This isn't real! Tell me this isn't real! This can't be happening!" With that, he fell into Cap's arms, his body convulsing with every hic-cupping sob.

"Let it out, son," Cap comforted the boy who had looked to him as a second father, "Let it all out." As Wheeler's crying spell worsened, the blue skinned superhero tightened his embrace, all the time wishing he could draw the despair and sadness out of the grieve stricken Planeteer.

Not wanting to watch the continuing coverage, the other four Planeteers stood outside Wheeler's hut and listened to the cries that cut through the air. The sounds of Wheeler's wails reached into their chests and squeezed their hearts. They had always seen him as the tough one, showing no vulnerability and providing comical remarks on eco-missions. The tragedy had brought out a side of the New Yorker that had never been revealed before, and the sight of a strong street kid going to pieces like that was even more heartbreaking than the continuing coverage of the attacks.

"I think we had better help him," Ma-ti said with a quivering voice as he choked down a lump that had formed in his throat.

"I think it would be best if we let him be for now," Kwame softly said, also feeling he should be there for his comrade but realizing it may not be his place. "It may make things even more uncomfortable for him if we all run in there."

"Da," Linka shrugged and nodded her head, wrapping one arm around the South American boy's shoulders, "Captain Planet is with him . . . "

Before the Russian blonde could say another word, Gaia quickly appeared to the young twenty-somethings.

"Planeteers, I need you in the Crystal chamber now!" she ordered.

"But we cannot stop the –"Linka began.

"Now!" Gaia repeated as she whizzed off toward her hut.

The Planeteers turned and sped toward Gaia's hut. They ran faster that morning than they had ever run before, and they were half winded by the time they stopped before the Crystal chamber.

"I'm sure you noticed Captain Planet was here this morning without your having to call him." The spirit began as she appeared to the right of the large crystal called Planetvision. "I have had a very unsettling feeling for the past several days that something was horribly wrong. As you slept, I used your powers and called Captain Planet because something told me he would be needed right here at home." Waving a hand in front of the large crystal, she activated a holographic image of the news reports that were being broadcast on television. "I don't need to tell you that the United States has come under attack, but what you don't know is that Wheeler's aunt Debbie and old school chum, Trevor, both work in the World Trade center in the south tower."

"Does anyone know if they are all right?" Ma-ti queried, his eyes darkening as he thought of the possibility that both people were among the casualties who could be lost beneath piles of debris or in monstrous flames.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Ma-ti," Gaia shook her head slowly from side to side. "It was the north tower that was hit, but I don't know if the people in the south tower are evacuating or staying put because their building is still in tact."

"Gaia!" Linka suddenly cried, what about Wheeler's parents! You do not think . . . "She cut off her own sentence because she did not want to hear herself bringing up the possibility that Wheeler could be orphaned.

"I don't think anything has happened to them," Gaia explained. "They normally would go to Debbie's office and drink coffee together before they had to go to work themselves. When the plane hit the north tower, the first thing I did was check Wheeler's old neighborhood to see if his parents were there . . . . Fortunately they hadn't left their apartment yet."

"I still do not understand . . . "Kwame said sadly, his eyes fixed to the images playing out before him, "what could push a person to do such a horrible thing? These are harmless people just doing their jobs or trying to get somewhere on airlines. They were not a threat to anyone . . . so many innocent lives lost."

As quickly as the attack had changed the lives of not only those directly involved but those who witnessed it on TV, Ma-ti interrupted the conversation.

"Gaia!" he blurted out with urgency in his voice, totally enveloped in a dark feeling he could not shake. ". . . Something is wrong! I can feel it . . . even without my power, I can feel . . ."

With the wave of her hand, Gaia changed the image on Planetvision, and breaking news flashed

In front of her and the four eco-activists. Five pairs of eyes spilled tears and grew increasingly wide with every second as they watched the airplane fly directly into the second twin tower.

"Gaia!" Linka exclaimed in shock, "The south tower . . . That is where wheeler's friend and aunt . . . "

"Maybe they have time to get out," Gi said, trying hard to convince herself as well as those around her. "They might not work on the floors that were hit . . . . If they are near the ground floor, they should be able to get to safety."

"I'm afraid, I don't know where they are, Gi," Gaia countered, her eyes becoming puffy and red from the salty drops. "we may not know if they're all right for a while."

"I just hope Wheeler is not seeing this," Kwame sighed.

"Then we must make sure he does _not_ see this!" Ma-ti held his right hand to his forehead and said, "Heart." He focused his thoughts on his pet spider monkey, 'Suchi . . . run into wheeler's hut and make him chase you out,' He silently commanded.

Suchi dropped the fallen palm frawn he had been playing with looked around for a second or two and ran to the residential huts. A repeated order prompted the little primate to run into the only room whose door was still open – Wheeler's.

Inside, Wheeler's cries had quieted down, and he just shook in Cap's arms. Whether both he and Cap had seen the second tower coming under attack or whether both had remained oblivious to the TV playing in the background was not known. As if he had consumed an entire container of Mexican jumping beans, Suchi ran in and danced around the pair, still in their embrace.

"Suchi!" Cap scolded, "This is no time for games! Outside!" When the monkey continued his annoying activity, Cap loosened his hold on Wheeler and shouted, pointing to the doorway, "Go outside!"

Tempted by a colorful object sitting on the dresser, Suchi ran over and grabbed it. He then darted outside with Wheeler's purple, red and blue sports bottle.

"Hey . . . whatter you . . . " Wheeler called out as he gave chase, his voice raspy from the sobbing that still left his eyes sticky and his throat sore, "Gimme that back, Suchi!"

When the hut was empty, Linka, Gi, Ma-ti, and Kwame peaked around the corner from behind Gi's hut. They exchanged winks, and Gi headed into her American compadre's home and emerged a moment later with a set of TV antennas in her hands.

"I unplugged the set and took these," she explained as she held up the rabbit ears. "He'll figure out the plug is pulled and reconnect it, but he won't be able to do anything except play his videos. He'll have to come to us if he wants to get a signal again."

"Does he not have two radios in there?" Linka inquired, remembering the portable stereo and weather radio. "He should not hear the news reports right now, especially if there is a chance something may have happened to his friend and aunt."

"I deprogrammed the stereo' radio stations and took the batteries out of the remote." Gi retrieved two AA batteries from her pocket. "I don't know what to do about the weather radio he keeps in the bathroom."

"We cannot keep him completely away from the news," Kwame pointed out, "sooner or later; he has to know the truth"

"You saw how he took it when he watched the first attack," Gi told her African friend. "What makes you think he would be able to handle seeing more attacks . . . and hearing stories that would just make him more upset and worried."

"I think Gi is right," Ma-ti said as he leaned against the wall of Gi's hut. "If there is any news about Wheeler's friend or aunt, he should hear it from his family . . . not from a TV reporter."

"Da, we can return everything back to normal once Wheeler has been in touch with his family and knows that everyone is all right..." Linka added as she flicked strands of her wind-blown ponytail away from her face with two fingers.

By 9:40 that morning, Wheeler had caught up with Suchi and retrieved his sports bottle, but not before the mischievous monkey had filled it with sand. After making the rather annoying discovery that his planet pals had rendered his TV and stereo temporarily useless, wheeler decided to wash out his multicolored drinking vessel in the bathtub. All the while he was stalked by the haunting feeling that after the initial attacks that had brought him to tears, things were already getting worse back home. The static from the weather radio combined with the distorted sounds of people recorded over the phone made broadcast next to impossible to follow unless giving the radio signal undivided attention.

Feeling an urgent need to call his family, Wheeler opened a drawer at his computer desk and retrieved his cell phone. Then remembering his battery would not hold a charge and needed to be replaced, he fished a calling card from the wallet he kept in the pocket of his brown windbreaker and darted off to the common hut. When he entered the living room, he found that he was in line to use the land line.

"Mishka," Linka spoke to her big brother, her voice reflecting the horror she was feeling, "It is terrible . . . a passenger plane just crashed into the pentagon, and Uncle Dimetry is over there!"

This development was new to a shocked Wheeler who just stood completely frozen in his tracks. What was happening to his homeland? How could anybody hijack passenger planes and deliberately crash them into important buildings?

". . . What?" Linka continued her phone conversation, ". . . You said he is visiting you and Grandma . . . Oh, bozhe moy. I am so glad he was not hurt." Noticing Wheeler was standing in the room not more than a meter away, Linka sighed, "Mishka, I had better go now. Please to be calling me later . . . I love you too . . . goodbye."

When she walked past Wheeler, Linka looked to him with loving empathy reflected in her facial features. Their eyes met for about ten seconds before she gave the redhead a gentle squeeze around his shoulders and made way so he could use the phone. Frantically, wheeler dialed the only number he could remember at the time, his mother's cell phone.

"Ma . . . "he began, his fingers grasping the phone so tightly his knuckles were turning nearly snow white, "the World Trade Center . . . Did Aunt Debbie get outta there when the north tower was hit?" A spooky air billowed throughout the room while Wheeler heard the news that his peers had tried to keep from him. "What . . . . The South tower got hit too . . . . No I didn't see that . . ." Like a deadly flash of lightning, a bolt of adrenalin mixed with a lance of dread pierced Wheeler from the heart throughout his body. "Ma, Trevor works on the 83rd floor . . . that means he didn't . . . What about Aunt Debbie . . . nothin' yet?"" He felt his body tremble, and he found he needed to lean on the edge of the table to keep his legs from collapsing underneath him. "I'll be there- . . . no flights in or out . . . Yeah, I'll be here . . . Call me on my cell the second you hear something . . . Bye . . . I love you too, Ma," he said his voice as shaky as his body. When he heard his mother hang up her phone, he slammed THE PHONE ONTO ITS CRADLE AND IMMEDIATELY CLAPPED ONE HAND OVER HIS MOUTH, TEARS rolling DOWN HIS CHEEKS.

Having overheard the fragmented conversation Wheeler was carrying out with his mother, Linka, Gi, Kwame, and Ma-ti exchanged concerned expressions. They realized someone needed to step forward and offer some comfort to a heartbroken man who had just learned he lost his childhood best friend; Linka swallowed hard and approached Wheeler and took his free hand into hers.

"Wheeler?" she softly said, her touch, as gentle as her voice. "Are you all right?"

Unable to say anything, Wheeler quickly shook his head. He removed his hand from his mouth, pursed his lips and averted his face. He did not feel like he could look at anybody or anything in his present state of mind.

Suddenly, a rumbling could be heard in the background, and it took everyone a few minutes to realize that the noise was coming from the television that had been left on. All five Planeteers were totally unprepared for the sight they were witnessing. Before their eyes, the south tower was buckling like a child's block building that was too tall and unstable.

"I cannot believe this is happening . . . . That tall building just collapsed into nothing," Kwame muttered, hanging his head.

"All those people who were still in there . . . "Ma-ti gasped, not able to complete his sentence.

Knowing that it was unlikely that his aunt was able to evacuate before the collapse, Wheeler barreled out of the hut, whizzing past Gaia and Cap, who were on their way to see the Planeteers.

"Go after him, Captain Planet," Gaia commanded as she headed for the common hut to deliver the news of the tower's destruction to the four Planeteers who were still staring at the television screen and feeling the shock of having witnessed the complete demolition of the tall and mighty sky scraper.

Wheeler ran along the beach as though fueled by the rushing blood that roared through his veins and the hot streams that gushed from his tear ducts. When he became tired of running, he came to an abrupt stop about fifteen paces from the ocean. Stripped of the ability to stand up straight and steady, he began to real back several steps, and he stumbled to his knees. The emotions that wrapped themselves around his heart and mind were too much to bear, and he collapsed into the fetal position. It was there in the sand where Cap had found him.

When Cap saw the fallen fire thrower shaking and huddled in a heap before him, he knelt down and helped him into a sitting position. "I'm really sorry, Wheeler," he somberly sighed as he noticed the look of paralyzing shock worn by a face that had drained of all color. "If you gotta scream or curse or cry, by all means do it," he said before pulling the redhead close and holding him tightly. "You'll feel better if you let it all out," he coaxed, hoping Wheeler would unleash the uncontrollable sobs that would make him feel even the slightest bit better.

Unsure what to do, wheeler sat frozen in the superhero's arms. He was afraid that if he cried now, he would never be able to stop, but he also felt as though he would explode if he did not release some of his grief. He then made the mental conclusion that if he were unable to stop crying on his own he would eventually pass out and stop the tears via unconsciousness. He then felt safe in releasing the desperate wails of a man who had just witnessed what seemed to be the end of life as he knew it, and his body shook violently as though he had consumed a roaring fire.

Despite the fact that there were no eco-emergencies, life on Hope Island was far from a tranquil hiatus. Wheeler, having forgotten to charge his phone, used the land line to access the voice mail. He felt his heart sink when he heard that his aunt had died from complications to injuries she sustained in the attack. According to the message Wheeler's mother left, Aunt Debbie did not want a funeral. Oddly enough, this was a relief to him. As much as Wheeler loved New York City, he did not feel as though he could go home now. He didn't want any constant reminders of the attack. Another bit of news his mother left was the fact that Trevor's remains still had not been found yet.

As the weeks passed, Gaia, Cap, and the Planeteers all noticed a dramatic change in Wheeler. The sobbing episode he had had on September 11 had temporarily robbed him of his voice, and he could not bring himself to speak even after his throat and vocal cords were fine once more. Because of his trauma-induced inability to talk, he had been relieved from active Planeteer duty, and Kwame wound up taking over the fire power, wearing Wheeler's ring on his middle finger. It took the Planeteers hours to convince him to eat even the smallest helpings of food, and he began to grow thin. Day by day, he sedately performed self care tasks as though on auto-pilot.

One overcast afternoon, the four untraumatized Planeteers had just returned from a clean-up mission in a small town that had just had a toxic spill. They exited their Geo-cruiser and immediately headed for their huts to wash up and change into fresh clothes. Having not had a chance to eat lunch, they all gathered into the kitchen to fix some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was there that they found a still silent Wheeler standing over the stove and dumping a packet of seasoning into a pot of boiling water and noodles.

"Hi, wheeler," Gi said as she approached him on her way to the bread box. When she was greeted with nothing more than a weak smile and a shrug, she attempted to break the silence by asking him what he was cooking. "Ramen Noodles?"

Wheeler nodded and stirred his brew until the seasoning completely dissolved.

"That is all?" Linka voiced her concern for the youth who had gone from having a ravenous appetite to eating barely enough to keep himself alive.

All Wheeler did was switch off the stove, serve himself some soup, and sit down to slowly slurp the first scalding spoonful.

"Compared to the portions he had been eating since the attack, Ramen Noodles could be considered a banquet," Kwame pointed out, trying to not only tell the truth but to provide some assurance to Linka.

Watching Wheeler sedately consume his meal and feeling unable to keep seeing his big buddy in this seemingly entranced state of mind, Ma-ti looked down and scuffed his sneaker on the floor. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he felt the need to exit the room in the hurry. He sped passed the recycling receptacle and grabbed a discarded jelly jar and a part of a newspaper. He ran to the beach and dropped to his knees before a large rock.

Gaia, who had been taking a casual walk, felt both shock and concern when she approached a very despondent Ma-ti, who was engaged in quite uncharacteristic behavior. Hunched over the boulder, he had wrapped the jelly jar inside the newspaper and was smashing it over and over again with a baseball sized rock. The look on his face was that of someone who was in major pain.

"Ma-ti?" Gaia said as she drew closer to the South American boy who could barely see her through his tears, "Do you want to talk?"

"I cannot stand to see Wheeler like this anymore, Gaia," Ma-ti wept as he continued to destroy the jar, ". . . He has not spoken since September 11; he hardly eats; and . . . sometimes it seems like he does not want to get better."

"He's been through a lot, Ma-ti . . . . . He not only lost his childhood friend and his aunt; he's also lost his innocence," Gaia explained. "Before September 11, many Americans saw terrorist attacks as something that only happened in tiny, faraway countries half a world away. They enjoyed being in their comfort zone believing that nothing could happen to them. Life in the United States was changed forever when those planes crashed into those buildings, and that comfort zone was permanently ruined. As for wheeler, he may not know just how to deal with everything that has happened to his friends, his family, and his country."

"I know what you are saying is right, but it does not stop my heart from breaking when I see Wheeler in this condition." Ma-ti dropped the rock he was holding, and he let the now powdered glass sift from inside the paper into the sand.

"He needs his friends now more than he ever has before . . . . Be there for him and let him know you will listen to him once he is ready to talk. What he needs to get through this is time and as much love and support as we can give him."

Slowly rising to his feet and starting back toward the recycling bin, Ma-ti acknowledged Gaia's words with a weak smile and a shrug. He dropped his paper into the bin and returned to the kitchen. There he found Kwame and Gi munching on their sandwiches and Linka trying to coax Wheeler to eat one too.

"The noodles are not enough to sustain you, Yankee," she said as she slid the extra sandwich she had made in front of her American comrade. "You need to eat something else, or you will get sick. Please, Wheeler . . . how about half of a sandwich." Getting no response from the self imposed mute she released a heavy sigh, "Bozhe moy! You are being as stubborn as a horse!"

Linka usually made mistakes when quoting American clichés because English was a second language to her. This time, she deliberately slipped up in hopes that Wheeler would break his silence and correct her. When Wheeler gave no answer, she sadly shook er head.

Feigning a slight headache, Ma-ti turned his back to everyone, placed his right hand over his forehead, and very quietly whispered, "Heart."

Having received the youngest Planeteer's mental suggestion, Linka resorted to one last effort to get Wheeler to eat. "If you finish half, I will give you a kiss," she offered as she tucked an out of place lock of hair behind Wheeler's left ear.

Wheeler squirmed a little in his chair, not knowing what to do. He would like the kiss, but he did not really want any food. Nothing had tasted right to him since September 11, and he could not seem to regain his appetite. In his head, he knew he needed to eat, but he just didn't want anything. However, he did want the kiss, so he picked up the PBJ and looked at it for a few seconds before taking the first bite.

After she saw the redhead polish off his last bite, Linka leaned over and smooched him on the cheek. "Thank you, Wheeler; it makes me to feeling so much better seeing you have a real meal."

Before sliding out of his chair, Wheeler hugged the Russian blonde and winked at her. He helped himself to some water and headed out the door and toward his hut.

"Oh," Gi suddenly remembered that she had left something in the Geo-cruiser, "I forgot to bring in the mail when we got back." She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin, dropped her plate into the sink, and started out to retrieve the mail. Upon her return, she began to distribute the letters and post cards to their rightful owners. "It looks like Wheeler has a package." She laid a blue card onto the table.

"It looks like he will have to fly into the city and pick it up," Kwame noted as he read the general delivery notice. If he goes right now, he will get there just before they close." With that, he took one last swallow of his water and exited with the card.

In his hut, Wheeler was previewing a Dr. Demento track he wanted to burn to a Cd. It was all Kwame could do to keep from laughing when he heard the humorous dialogue in Dickie Goodman's "Mr. Jaws" blasting from the computer speakers.

"Wheeler," he approached his buddy once the track had played itself out, "Gi picked up our mail before we went on our clean up assignment, and you have a package waiting for you at the post office. I thought we could get there before they close today."

Wheeler turned in his chair to face the black man. 'Maybe the blank CD's I ordered came in," he thought.

Seeing the look of interest in Wheeler's eyes, Kwame smiled, "We can go as soon as you are ready."

After coming to his feet, Wheeler stepped into the bathroom to run a comb through his hair. He then grabbed the wallet from his windbreaker pocket and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. After he properly shut down the computer, he and Kwame boarded the Geo-cruiser and set a course to the post office to which the Planeteers' mail had been addressed for the last eleven years.

At the post office, Wheeler mutely slipped his delivery card into the clerk's hand and signed the receipt once the box was produced. The package that had been waiting for him was not the one he was expecting. It was far too big and heavy to be the blank CD's he had been waiting for. When the two young men arrived back home, they immediately toted the package back to Wheeler's hut. It wasn't until they set it on the floor when Wheeler got a look at the return address for the first time. It was from Brooklyn, New York.

"Do you not want to see what it is?" Kwame asked after seeing Wheeler pushing the package aside with his foot.

When he saw his friend slip outside to take a walk in the fresh air, Kwame allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, and he broke the packing tape with a pair of scissors he found in one of the desk drawers. Inside the box there was a letter that read:

Dear Jesse,

I hope you are all right; the news about Trevor hit us all very hard, and we are all trying to deal with the loss. We have been praying for you in our Bible study group that the Father would heal your heart.

I remembered how you and Trevor talked about how you wanted to team up and make movies together, and I found his audio equipment. I thought you might like to have it. You will also find his Bible. I realize you never really found your spiritual identity, but I think this may help you in your healing.

I am very sorry to hear about your Aunt Debbie. If you are looking for anyone to talk to or just want a shoulder to cry on, feel free to call me.

God Bless,

Mrs. Summers

Kwame laid the letter on the desk and fumbled around in the box to see what was in there. A red hardcover NIV study Bible laid on top of a series of old Christmas cookie tins. Inside those tins were patch cords of varying lengths and sizes, many different kinds of conversion plugs, two way patch splitters, a headset, and a microphone. Another tin housed a disk man. While another was a home for AC adapter packs. In a corner at the bottom of the box was a shrink-wrapped brick of blank CDR's suitable for burning music CD's.

"Wheeler would have hours of fun with this stuff," he said to himself before repacking the box and laying the letter on top of the tins. He then closed and resealed the box with a roll of tape he retrieved from a desk drawer. Satisfied with the job he had done with the cardboard box, he slid it into a corner of the closet behind Wheeler's laundry basket

"Hi, Kwame," Gi haled the African as he came out and closed the door behind him, "we saw you land in the clearing and carry the package back here. Is Wheeler in there?" She gestured to the Yankee's hut.

"He did not want to open the box, Gi," Kwame exhaled a long sigh. "He seemed curious about what was inside; then he just pushed it aside and took off. I took the liberty of opening it, and I found that it came from his friend's mother. There was a Bible and all sorts of audio equipment."

Did you say 'audio equipment'?" Gi asked, the proverbial wheels turning in her head.

"Yes, there are all kinds of cables and connecters and even a microphone."

"I think Linka will be jealous, "Gi chuckled. ". . . You know, Kwame, I think I might know how to help Wheeler . . . . See if you can get him to come and meet me in the common room," she called back as she dashed in that direction.

In the common hut, Gi set two cans of root beer on an end table between a wooden rocking chair and soft couch, and she stepped over to the five shelf book case the Planeteers used to keep their video collections. She began to thumb through her videos on the second shelf from the bottom and fished out a tape she thought would be perfect for the plan she had in mind. She had just cued up the scene she wanted to play for Wheeler when she heard the front door open. In stepped the redhead, looking like a teenager who could not tell if he was in trouble with or if he was about to receive praise from a favorite teacher.

"Hi, Wheeler, I was just playing one of my tapes when I ran across a scene or two I thought you should see," she bluffed as she sat in the rocker with the remote in her hand.

Glancing at the empty video case that was sitting on top of the VCR, Wheeler read the title "Little House On The Prairie" and flopped onto the couch, a look as if to say, 'Spare me," running across his freckled face.

"I know this isn't your favorite show, but there's something I think may help you start to feel better . . . you don't want to be like this for the rest of your life, do you?"

Wheeler gulped, looked down, and shook his head.

"It's not a very long segment," the Asian girl promised as she pressed the play button on her remote.

For the next several minutes they watched as two brokenhearted men talked about having lost close relatives and how one was having trouble dealing with his overwhelming grief. The characters hugged each other, and the more emotionally stable one was telling the inconsolable one how important it was to come out of his sadness and live a life that would make his deceased family member proud. When the scene came to an abrupt change, Gi stopped the program, replacing the men and the lonely farm house with a silent, neon-blue screen. She pushed the fast forward button and kept a watchful eye on the tape counter. When the numerical sequence she sought appeared, she rapidly pushed the play button again.

"This one is really short," she pointed out as an outdoor church service held in front of a burned building unfolded on the television.

Wheeler had helped himself to one of the root beer cans while this portion of the show ran its course; and when the closing credits appeared, he had consumed the entire drink. As he set the empty can onto a drink coaster to his right sighed, he looked to Gi and did something he had not been able to do for the last several weeks.

". . . What . . . what does that have to do with me?" he softly asked his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe you can do something in honor of your Aunt Debbie and Trevor," Gi suggested, ". . . sort of your own little tribute. I've heard re-mix songs and Taliban spoofs on the radio, and people say those songs help them deal with what happened. You could burn a CD or make a video . . . . You never know, a project could be just what the doctor ordered"

"Thanks, Gi," was all Wheeler said before hugging her firmly and turning to the doorway.

Back in his hut, Wheeler found his neglected package and retrieved it from its hiding place. Noticing the duct tape that had served as a replacement seal and remembering that Kwame was in the hut after he had stepped out., he thought to himself, 'Doesn't Kwame know that opening someone else's mail is a federal offence . . . maybe I'll keep my mouth shut if he does the cooking the next three nights when it's supposed to be my turn.'

Wheeler grabbed his scissors and opened the box. He froze for a moment after having read the short yet heartfelt letter, and he swallowed hard several times before folding it in half and tucking it into the Bible. After peeking into each cookie tin, he set them into the cardboard carton again, having no idea what to do with his new gifts.

Sitting at his computer, he booted it up and planned to download some more songs. His computer was strange in that he had to access his email if he wanted to connect to the Internet properly, so he put up with this detour. One after One, emails had come in. Most of them were spam or forwarded chain letters, but one or two were personal letters. One of these came from his former girlfriend, Trish:

Hi, Wheeler.

I've been talking to your mom, and she says you're still pretty shaken up about what happened on 9-11.I just want you to know that I'm here if you need to talk. I moved into your old room after my roommate split to live with her parents in Florida. She got so upset by everything that she couldn't stand to live in New York anymore.

Below is a copy of an email a friend sent me. I thought I would copy and paste it since most people delete forwards

Wheeler scrolled down and read the message that pointed out several chapters and scriptures in the Bible that should provide comfort to persons who were dealing with sorrow or insecurity or who needed several forms of assurance. He did not know why, but he felt as though he _had_ to print out the message and take its words to heart.

That evening brought the aura of encouragement to the Planeteers, and it was as if someone entered a dark room, produced a night light, and promised that they would bring in a lamp sometime soon. Linka, Gi, Kwame, and Ma-ti were thrilled and relieved to see Wheeler eat an entire balanced meal and even have two Oreo cookies for desert. Although he had broken his self imposed vow of silence, he still was not as vocal as he had been before the tragedy.

After he licked the Oreo crumbs from his fingers Wheeler took one last gulp of milk and excused himself from the table, claiming he had something to do that could not wait. In his hut, he grabbed the printout and Bible, settled onto his bed, and began to look up the scriptures.

The words on the thin, white pages were adorned with colorful underlines, and Trevor's almost illegible jots were sprinkled in the margins. Even with the notes, Wheeler found the scriptures hard to understand. He heard Trevor say over and over that the Bible had provided him with comfort whenever he was upset, but Wheeler did not feel anything. When he was a child, what little spiritual feeding he had came from Trevor and his family. Wheeler's father did not believe in God at all, and he actively discouraged him from exploring Christianity by telling him that if God really loved him He wouldn't have made him out to be such a loser. Having been emotionally abused as many times as he had, Wheeler began to believe his father's words, and he began to see his being born as a mistake. Unfortunately, his mother was just as much a victim of emotional abuse, so she had no idea how to help her suffering son.

Wheeler was about to close the Bible and leave it on his night stand when Mrs. Summers' letter slid out, floated up on a gentle gust, and landed open face in his lap. His eyes fell on the last paragraph in which Mrs. Summers had offered to listen if he ever wanted to talk. He then refolded the paper and tucked it into the pages before retrieving his cell phone. The low battery light was flashing, so he plugged in the charger and hooked up the phone. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the call dropping while he and Mrs. Summers were busy with their conversation. Once Wheeler connected his hands-free device, he started dialing the Summers' number. "Mrs. Summers? It's Jesse Wheeler . . . You said you'd be here if I needed . . ." He gulped, having trouble finishing his sentence.

For the next three hours, Mrs. Summers explained the Bible to Wheeler and told him that God loved him just the way he was. She told him that his dad was wrong, that God was real, and that He wants Wheeler to get to know him better and love Him back. All of this new found information was a lot for the overwhelmed redhead to swallow, and Mrs. Summers warned that knowing God would take a lifetime, and that there would always be questions and a need for prayer. Near the end of the phone call, she found herself growing sleepy, so she asked if she could pray for Wheeler while he was still on the phone.. As he listened to the loving and heart-felt words, he felt a lump forming in his throat. By the time he hung up the cell phone, his blue eyes were hot and ready to well up. After placing the phone back into the desk drawer, he brushed his teeth, changed into a pair of blue and white striped pj's and crawled into bed.

"Wheeler," a voice called out to the sleeping Planeteer, "get up, man."

"Who said that?" Wheeler yawned as he rolled onto his back, still wrapped in his covers.

"Duhh," the voice said playfully, "who do you think it is ginger-dude."

Realizing that Trevor was the only one who called him by that nickname, Wheeler sat up, gaping at the figure that stood over his bed. "T-Trevor . . . you're . . . s-supposed to be . . . d-dead," he stuttered.

"That doesn't mean I can't pop up in one o' your dreams." Trevor smiled and ran his fingers through his chocolate brown hair. "We gotta talk, buddy."

"About What?"

"I need you to do something for me . . . . Make a video and dedicate it to the memory of those who died because of the September 11 attacks."

"I dono if I can do that."

"Sure you can," Trevor assured his friend. "You can get your minicam and use the patch equipment I gave you to dub in background music. It's not that hard. God gave you the gift of creativity, and he gave you the talent for cinematography. It may not be easy, but it will be instrumental in your and other people's recovery from the tragedy. If God didn't want you to do this, He wouldn't have sent me here to tell you to make the video. If nothing else, do it for me, Wheeler."

Wheeler looked into Trevor's big, brown eyes, and that sincere look was the last thing he saw before the room faded into blackness and silence.

Suddenly, Wheeler regained consciousness and bolted upright in his bed. Trevor was no longer there, and the darkened room filled with an aura of inspiration. He still felt groggy and doubted he had the energy to do much of anything. Not wanting to completely lose the Idea that shot through his mind, he grabbed a spiral notebook and scribbled the main parts of the epiphany onto the blank page. Once he jotted everything down, he laid the notebook onto the desk and slid back into bed.

No more memorable dreams ran through Wheeler's head that night, for it seemed to be only seconds after he had fallen back to sleep when his alarm clock brought him back to a waking state with its steady pulses. With his eyes still closed, he reached one hand out from under the covers and allowed his fingers to land sharply on the snooze bar. The digital clock slipped backward and fell between the night stand and the wall. With a sigh, Wheeler rolled loose from his covers and clumsily came to his feet. With one hand holding onto the night stand to support his still sleepy body, he rescued the clock and set it on the edge closest to the pillow.

"Man . . . "he muttered once he saw the time shown on the LED display, "I coulda slept another half hour." With that, Wheeler lay back down, but he did not feel himself sliding back into the dormant state called sleep. ". . . Might as well get up," he groaned as he rose and pulled his garnet colored bathrobe from its hook on the bathroom door.

Once he had wrapped the terry cloth garment around himself and tied the belt at the waist, Wheeler pondered what he was going to do next. He knew he needed to hear some music, sounds of activity, or human voices to help him wake up, so he turned on his television and was about to produce a home video he had filmed while in an old growth forest in the northwestern United States. However, before he could insert the tape, the news had caught his eye.

Instead of broadcasting news about the terrorist assault that claimed so many lives including those of Wheeler's aunt and best friend, the news unfolded stories of a more positive light. This one, in particular, covered the burst of patriotism that bound the United States closer together than ever before. The anchor person told about how more and more people were buying out stores' supplies of American flags, and that it could be months before new ones were available. Another facet touched upon by the reporter was the fact that churches were experiencing a rise in attendance since that fateful Tuesday, and that vigils and memorials dedicated to the victims were taking place as means of comfort to those left behind to mourn their loved ones.

Once he had seen a video clip featuring many politicians singing "God Bless America" on the front steps of the Capital, Wheeler gulped and flopped onto the edge of his bed. He felt as if a long-term injury was about to begin its healing process, and that excellent health was around the corner as long as he did his part in his recovery.

In an instant, Wheeler tore into the bathroom, shed his robe and sleepwear, cranked up his radio, and jumped into the shower. For the first time in a long while everything appeared to be more real and vivid; the soap and shampoo smelled better; the water seemed to be more energizing; and the bath towel felt even softer. He had just gotten out of the tub when he heard a knock on his door.

"Gimme a minute!" he called out as he donned his robe and bound it snuggly around himself. Once he made certain that the robe would remain closed and not accidentally cause any embarrassment, the redhead stepped over to the door and pulled it open enough for him to see who his visitor happened to be. "Kwame m'man, what's up?" he asked as he took a couple of paces back and opened the door enough for the black man to enter.

"Gi and Ma-ti are making waffles and fruit cups for breakfast, and they want to know if you are going to join us this morning."

". . . Uh . . . Sure," Wheeler answered as he pulled some under shorts from one of the dresser drawers and approached the closet to pick out something to wear. "I gotta ask ya somethin'", Kwame," he began, retrieving a pair of jeans and an oversized, white T-shirt with the Planeteer insignia. "I wanna talk to Cap after breakfast . . . it's real important."

"I do not think that would be a problem," Kwame assured his buddy. "Do you think you are ready to take back your fire power?"

Wheeler paused before answering, "I will once I . . . "He failed to finish his sentence, still feeling uncomfortable in talking about the tragedy. "I gotta do somethin' first . . . "was all he could think to say.

Noticing the solemn expression worn by the once jovial New Yorker, Kwame rested a warm hand on Wheeler's shoulder. "You do know that you can come to any of us and count on us for support. If something is bothering you, we are here for you my friend."

A slow nod was all Wheeler gave before he ducked behind the bathroom door in order to slip into his shorts and jeans. A minute later he emerged and threw his T-shirt on. "I know man. This is somethin' I'm just not ready to talk about yet. It's gonna be hard enough to run it by Cap."

"If you would feel more comfortable talking to one of us or Gaia . . . "

"Thanks but . . . Cap's the only one who can help me pull this off."

It only took a few minutes for wheeler to finish freshening up before following his down-to-earth companion to the common hut. The morning meal was delicious to Wheeler, and he never remembered the berries tasting any sweeter or the waffles being any richer. Even the orange juice, which was not his favorite brand, tasted absolutely wonderful.

"I am so glad to see you have regained your appetite, Wheeler," Kwame stated as he poured some syrup onto his waffles.

"Da," Linka added, sprinkling some white sugar onto her berries and stirring everything around in her custard cup, "now all you have to do is gain back the weight you have lost over these last few weeks."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem "Gi said as she sliced through her butter and sugar covered waffles. "It looks to me like you are on your way to recovering, Wheeler."

"Will you be taking back your ring?" Ma-ti asked, helping himself to another waffle and spreading jam on it.

"After I get somethin' done, Wheeler answered before pouring himself another glass of orange juice. "It's kinda important, and I gotta do it before I go back to fightin' villains and cleanin' up toxic spills."

"How long do you think it will take?" Ma-ti wanted to know.

". . . Dono . . . a couple o' days I guess."

"You said, you need Captain Planet's help with this project " Kwame pointed out. "Perhaps you can take back your ring after we finish eating, and you can use it to help summon him . . . besides, I feel very uncomfortable with the fire power. I am always afraid I will accidentally burn myself."

"I don't think the ring will fit me right now," Wheeler reminded his pal as he held up his thin right hand.

"There are some temporary solutions you can use until you get back to your normal weight," said Gi. "You could put it on a chain around your neck; you can tape it to your finger with a band-aid; or you can wear it on your thumb."

"Yeah, I guess I could do that." Wheeler wiped his mouth and collected his empty dishes.

Once all the dirty dishes were left to soak in a sink full of hot, soapy water, the Planeteers headed for the beach; and as the thundering ocean waves crashed against the shoreline, the five young adults raised their right fists into the air.

Let our Powers combine . . . . Earth!"

"Fire!"

"Wind!"

"Water!"

"Heart!"

The five colored beams met at one common point in the air and formed a swirling rainbow. Suddenly, the green, red, white, blue, and yellow illusion turned into a thundering cloud, then formed in the shape of a floating man. "By your powers combined, I am Captain Planet!"

"Go Planet!" the youths called out in unison.

Cap took a few seconds to assess his current situation. When he noticed he was still on Hope Island, he descended to the beach and landed gracefully on the warm sand. A smile curved his lips as he saw his team of Planeteers was whole once more. He then approached Wheeler, who was twisting his ring around and around on his right thumb.

"Welcome back, Wheeler, he laughed, slapping the redhead on the back.

"Thanks, Cap, "the young man said before winking at his peers, signaling for them to give him and the hero some privacy. As soon as the others had stepped away, he looked to Cap with sincerity and a touch of nervousness reflected in his blue eyes. I gotta talk to you Cap," he said while the pair began to casually walk along the shoreline.

The plans for Wheeler's recovery project were falling nicely into place. Cap had agreed to help Wheeler with, perhaps, the most important part, and he said that they would leave just as soon as he checked with Gaia to see if he wouldn't be needed elsewhere. In the meantime, Wheeler was getting everything together. He had just loaded his mini-cam with a fresh roll of film, and he stuffed his toiletries, sleepwear, and a couple changes of clothes into a blue backpack. He was about to zip the canvas bag closed when he remembered he should take his cell phone in case the Planeteers needed to contact him.

While transporting the phone from the drawer to the pack's smaller pocket, the Brooklyn born youth passed by his night stand and accidentally knocked the Bible to the floor when his hip grazed the edge. The hard cover book fell to the floor with a dull thud and landed with its pages open. When he picked it up, Wheeler noticed the letter was sitting right where he had absently placed it – right where the book of Joshua started. Suddenly, he remembered how Mrs. Summers advised him to begin reading the Word, so he grabbed the printout of Trish's email and flopped into the hunter green beanbag chair he kept in the corner. He glanced at the email and saw that Joshua Chapter 1 could provide some help and a source of courage for someone about to undertake a new and scary task, so he closely studied the first nine verses of the Chapter and tried to see just how the scriptures could help him in his latest endeavor.

"Wheeler!" Cap's voice could be heard calling from the other side of the door that had been swung shut by the wind gust that had gone unnoticed while the young man was reading, "ready to go?"

Jolted back into the real world, Wheeler inserted the papers into the pages and snapped the Bible shut. "Almost!" he called back as he stuffed it into his backpack and closed it up. Making sure everything he needed was safely packed away, he told Cap to come on in.

"Well, as you would say, 'Let's book"," Cap said as he motioned for wheeler to follow him to the beach.

As the palm trees swayed in the blowing wind and the seagulls squawked high above the ocean, Cap and Wheeler prepared for their adventure. With the breeze brushing their backs, Cap stepped behind his companion intent on wrapping his arms around his middle, but finding the backpack Wheeler wore would make it very cumbersome and difficult to do so.

"If we're gonna pull this off, Wheeler, I think I will have to carry the pack," he suggested.

"No problem," Wheeler shrugged as he relinquished his bag to the superhero.

"Ready?"

". . . As I'll ever be." Wheeler tightened his grip on his camera and anticipated being literally swept into the seemingly endless, blue skies.

Flying through mid air was a very different experience than flying in a geo-cruiser. Puffy, clouds that looked like marshmallows from the ground turned out to be cold pockets of misty fog that sent chills through Wheeler's spine. The view that had normally appeared from the other side of the cruiser's window now was brighter, richer and more real. The air was fresh and crisp, and it made Wheeler feel as if his lungs were receiving a thorough cleaning.

Before long, the awesome traverse had taken a turn, and Cap prompted, "We're approaching Ground Zero, wheeler. Gotcher camera ready?"

Wheeler nervously lifted his mini-cam and peered through the viewfinder, dreading what he would see so far below him. As the rolling, endless piles of rubble and devastation scrolled past the camera's lens, Wheeler felt his stomach lurch and spin with the fury of a dangerous tornado. The many emotions that had wrapped themselves around him like steel bands on September 11 had invited themselves back into his mind and heart.

"Are you okay, Wheeler?" Cap asked, growing concerned once he noticed a change in the redhead's facial expression and breathing pattern.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go," Wheeler nervously quoted Joshua 1:9 under his breath, his voice quivering and manifesting the fear and distress he was feeling.

"Wheeler?" Cap said, having never knowing the formerly care-free Planeteer to recite scriptures.

"If you are with me, God, oh boy do I need you now!" Wheeler cried out, pulling the camera away from his eye and forgetting that the tape was still rolling. "God, help me!" he beseeched into the clouds above him.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Cap quietly questioned, believing that Wheeler had gone into this project prematurely. "Why don't we take a break and see if there's anything else you can tape for your video."

"I gotta do this, Cap," Wheeler said trying feverishly to convince himself as well as his superhero friend. "If I go back to the Planeteers, I have to be able to look at rubble without fallin' apart."

"I still think we should take a break," Cap insisted, determined to win his argument and get Wheeler to film something else for his tribute tape. "Do you know where we can stop off and rethink this project?"

Wheeler took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and came to the realization that his own stubbornness would be no match for Cap's. He knew that he would not win this one; after all, who was carrying who? "Trish is stayin' with Ma, and I didn't bring a lot o' money . . . Mrs. Summers has a condo in Brooklyn heights . . . "

"What's the address?"

Wheeler searched his brain for the name of the condo and its number and street. He then paused his mini-cam and told Cap where to find Mrs. Summers' home. It didn't take them long to get to their destination, and Cap gently landed on a balcony on the second floor and set Wheeler down in one of the blue, plastic chairs.

Hearing the unusual racket that was going on out on the balcony, a gray cat jumped down from a leather recliner in the living room, pranced through the sliding glass door that had been cracked to let fresh air in, and stepped onto the dusty, wooden floor.

"Hi, Little fellow," Cap bent down to scratch the feline behind the ears, only to have the cat dart over to Wheeler.

Wheeler, who remembered the kitty from his last visit with Trevor, reached down to scratch him by the tail, but the animal had something else in mind. He promptly leaped up, wrapped his front paws around Wheeler's wrist, and happily nipped his arm.

"Ow! Cut it out Booger " Wheeler reprimanded as he pulled himself free of the cat's grasp. "Did anyone tell you that hurts!"

"He's just saying 'hi'," Cap said, drawing on his heart power to figure out why Booger was behaving in this manner. He lifted Booger, who let out a loud meow and began to playfully box at his face.

Mrs. Summers, who had taken a personal holiday, had just finished tossing clothes into the stackable washer/dryer when she heard the feline dialogue that was taking place on the balcony. She closed the lid and headed toward the noise.

"Booger, what are you-"she threw the door open and stood wide eyed, staring to her unexpected visitor. ". . . Jesse . . . Jesse Wheeler, it is so good to see you!"

Anticipating an affectionate and hearty squeeze that only Mrs. Summers could give, Wheeler set his camera onto the glass top table and ran over to hug the lady who radiated love and warmth in her smile and her embrace. Once he stepped back, he looked at the gentle woman with misty, blue eyes.

"We just came from Ground Zero," Cap started to explain Wheeler's present mood, "and it really got to him."

"No, Cap," Wheeler shook his head, "it's not Ground Zero . . . I dono why, but I get this way every time I see Mrs. Summers."

Mrs. Summers smiled at the Young man, knowing very well why he got all choked up every time they talked. She knew that Wheeler never really knew how to handle being truly loved and accepted unconditionally. His father seldom showed his love for him; while his mother tried her best but could not do or say enough to make up for the awful way her husband treated their only son.

"Mrs. Summers, This is Captain Planet," Wheeler introduced her to the man from whom she had just taken the kitty. "Cap this is Trevor's mom."

"I've seen your picture in the paper " Mrs. Summers said as she dropped Booger onto the floor just inside the living room. "You and your Planeteers saved a nuclear power plant in Rhode Island from a total meltdown . . . . But I didn't see you in that picture, Jesse. The other four were there but not you."

"That's because Wheeler broke his ankle helping three scientists evacuate, and he was in the hospital at the time the picture was taken." Cap began to brag about his pyro-pal. "Too bad he couldn't 'ave gotten the Purple Heart. He proved you don't need superpowers to be a hero.

"Where are my manners?" Mrs. Summers said, slightly annoyed with herself for not inviting her guests in before engaging in conversation, "come in and sit down . . . both of you."

Wheeler retrieved his mini-cam, and the trio entered the condo. The faint odor of burnt toast filled the room, and the pitter-patter of Booger's excitedly running around the living room floor competed with the soft music playing on the radio. While Mrs. Summers prepared two tumblers of water, Cap left Wheeler's backpack on the floor by the coffee table and perched on the recliner, and Wheeler sat on the left hand side of the couch with his camera in his lap.

"So, tell me," Mrs. Summers began as she sat on the other end of the couch, "why have you graced me with your presence?"

"I . . . I'm workin' on somethin'," Wheeler labored to find an answer without blowing the possibility of ultimately surprising Mrs. Summers with his tribute after it is finally completed, "I can't go into details about it . . . just that I gotta film a couple o' things."

Not wanting Wheeler to bring any more emotional distress upon himself, Cap stood up and stepped into the conversation. "I hate to drink and fly, but I think I'm gonna go see if there are other scenes Wheeler can film besides the ruins of the World Trade Center. It may be too much for him to handle right now."

"You may be right, Captain Planet. Those images can be very painful. I did hear on channel 4 that all over New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, people have been planning special events in honor of September 11." Mrs. Summers took Cap's now empty cup and dropped it in the kitchen sink.

"I'll go check it out." With that, Cap slid the door open and ascended into the skies.

As soon as she knew that Cap was gone, Mrs. Summers closed the door and sat next to Wheeler again. "So how are you doing, Jesse?" she asked as she rested one hand on Wheeler's shoulder.

"I'm okay," the man sheepishly replied, not wanting to dig up any emotions and risk losing his self control.

"You miss Trevor and your Aunt Debbie, don't you . . . "

". . . Yeah. I just wanna know . . . is this gonna get any easier?" Wheeler gulped.

"I know it's hard to believe, Jesse, but it will get easier someday. When the twin towers first collapsed, I was a basket case, but as time passed it began to hurt a little less every day. It also helps having Booger around. I got him when I cleaned out Trevor's apartment, and having him is like having a part of Trevor back again." She took Wheeler by the hand and continued, "And look at you. Believe it or not, you are getting better already. I heard from your mother that you had stopped talking after the attack . . . now; you want to make a home video about September 11. God has begun guiding you through your recovery, and He will keep guiding you. Lean on Him, Jesse, and he will give you all the strength you're going to need to get through this. You're . . . we're both going to be fine again. . . . That's God's promise." She tightened her hold on Wheeler's hand and began to pray for their continued emotional healing and that Wheeler would find a safe place in the arms of his creator.

Wheeler had unpacked his personal effects in the guest room, intent on spending the night with Mrs. Summers. He realized that not only could they comfort each other, but he would be welcome company to the woman who watched all three of her children move out of the house to begin lives of their own. Trevor's brothers lived in other time zones; therefore, visitation was not always easy. Also this week was particularly lonely for Mrs. Summers because this was the first time her husband had to take an overnight business trip since the attack.

The two spent the entire morning talking about anything that came to mind – happy memories of Trevor, the turn their lives had been taking recently, and the promise to be there to help each other through their grief. By the time they had just finished lunch, they heard a thud on the balcony; and Cap had appeared in the doorway.

"Glad to see I didn't interrupt your meal, wheeler," the jolly blue giant said once Mrs. Summers opened the sliding door. "There's something I think you would like to catch on your video, and I think we'd better hurry before it's too late"

"Go on and shoot your scene, Jesse," Mrs. Summers coached. "You have the dreams, the imagination, and the determination to start this project, and I want to see it when it is done."

"You will," Wheeler said before Cap snatched him up and flew from the balcony with him.

The flight through the air had only taken minutes, and Cap cued Wheeler to start his camera. Below, in a tranquil retirement apartment complex, tiny dots representing residents stood on the concrete deck of the swimming pool area. As Cap brought Wheeler closer, the dots became actual people, and one was standing very close to a white wall that encircled the entire pool area. An even closer look revealed the seemingly magical appearance of red stripes on that wall.

When Cap set Wheeler onto the ground, the aspiring cinematographer captured a clear view of an old man from the back who was shaking a can of spray paint. In front of him was an incomplete mural of an American flag about six feet tall and nine feet long. The red stripes had just been finished, and the man was commencing work on the blue, star spangled upper left corner of his rendition of the flag. To Wheeler's surprise, the man didn't spray the entire square blue and add white stars to it afterward. He carefully moved the spray paint can in front of the wall, creating the blue field tracing the outlines of the white stars he saw in his mind. He appeared to be in a deep state of concentration as he made his drawing, and he became mildly annoyed when his can ran out and he had to start another one. Nobody wanted to distract him for they knew the importance of this task and how much intense concentration it would take to pull it off.

When the artist finished his masterpiece, he stepped back to allow his audience to see the perfect replica of the American flag. The round of applause that came from the other residents sounded like the kind of rain shower one would love to hear on the roof before falling asleep at night.

"That's totally awesome!" Wheeler gasped as he shot a clear image of the painting.. "That ol' guy really knows how to draw!"

"Yo, thanks," the man's raspy voice brought Wheeler's attention from his filming. The younger man stopped his camera and looked to the gentleman who looked somewhat familiar to him. "Course, I been drawin' most o' my life," he said in a thick New York accent.

A wave of deja vous prompted Wheeler to ask, "Do I know you?" He doubted very seriously that he had ever seen this man before, but maybe he had seen his picture somewhere – but where?

"The name's Nicho," the elderly artist extended his hand to shake with Wheeler.

"Call me Wheeler," the Planeteer returned the introduction, not caring that he might get a little red or blue paint on his hand. 'Nicho . . . that name sounds familiar" Wheeler thought to himself. He remembered Gaia's telling a story of how an earlier generation of Planeteers once summoned Cap over sixty years ago, and that his 1940's counterpart was a teenage hotel waiter named Nicho. He also remembered his mother having talked about how she had an uncle Nicho who was a terrible correspondent that seemed to only write once in a blue moon.

"You wouldn't happen to know a lady named Abby terrelli . . . would you?" Wheeler queried.

"She's my niece . . . my brother's kid . . . haven't seen her since she had her baby." Nicho stood and stared at the man over sixty years his junior. "You look like her."

"She's my mom," Wheeler said, somewhat in shock.

"It's been a while since I'd seen you " Nicho said as he approached Cap.

"Looking good, Nicho," Cap said to the man whose gray hair and aged face made him look very distinguished. "I see you still like to draw," he commented as he gestured toward the flag mural.

"It's my tribute to the people who died in the attack " Nicho countered, leaning on one of the sturdy, plastic tables.

That's what I'm doin'," Wheeler said as he held up his video camera.

"Around here, they're callin' this the Pearl Harbor of the 21st century," Nicho somberly noted. "When we were bombed in '41, I joined the Army and did what I could do for my country. Now, after 2 hip replacements . . . stupid arthritis . . . I had to do somethin' else less physical to express my patriotism." With that, he approached his flag and picked up a can of red spray paint.

Wheeler feared Nicho would do something to ruin his vibrant mural, and he went on a gut feeling to start up his camera. To his surprise, Nicho shook his paint can and began to spray something to the right of the flag – Aunt Debbie's name! Then, he approached Wheeler and asked him if he had lost anyone close to him in the attack.

"Go ahead, Wheeler," Cap coaxed, trying to take the camera from the young man's hands.

Wheeler knew that writing Trevor's name would be therapeutic for him, and he knew that having a video immortalizing his spray painting it on the memorial would be instrumental in his and others' recovery. Hoping that Cap could shoot this one scene without jolting the camera, he walked up to the massive flag, where Nicho handed him a can of blue spray paint. Wheeler shook the can and wrote Trevor's name directly below Aunt Debbie's.

Cap and Wheeler had spent a lion's share of that afternoon searching for and capturing many patriotic scenes on video. They continued with this project until it started to get dark, and they returned to Mrs. Summers' condo, where Cap said he had to return to the earth to recharge.

"Well, Wheeler, it's just about my bedtime, so . . . "Cap leaped off the balcony and into mid air. "The Power is yours!"

Cap transformed into a swirl of green, red, white, blue, and yellow beams, and the red beam shot straight into Wheeler's ring, thus returning the power of fire to him. He watched as the other four beams lanced the darkness and traveled back to Hope Island.

"Jesse, do you like a lot of pepperonis on your pizza? Mrs. Summers asked as she prepared two French bread pizzas for baking.

"Sure . . . you got anchovies too?" Wheeler stepped back inside, pushed the door shut, and secured the burglar bar into place.

"I do not eat rotten little fishies on my pizza!" Mrs. Summers laughed.

Instead of being disappointed that his favorite topping would not be on his pizza, Wheeler found himself laughing at his host's wisecrack. After the Pizzas had gone into the oven, Mrs. Summers sat down on the recliner and looked to her guest who was now half lying on the couch.

"I think you will need to get to bed right after we finish eating," she suggested as she noticed Wheeler was slipping into a fog of fatigue. "You've had a big day, and even if your mind thinks it is alert, your body might want to sleep."

"That's how people get fat . . . goin' to bed right after they eat."

It looks like you can use some more weight. You're so thin . . . . Have you been eating properly lately?"

"Until yesterday, I haven't had much of an appetite," Wheeler confessed. "After the attacks, food just didn't taste right anymore."

"Well, you're not going to skip any meals while you're staying with me," Mrs. Summers declared, "even if I have to force feed you. Is that clear, young man?"

Wheeler realized that this determined lady was not one to bluff, and he wouldn't put it past her to force feed him and make the experience as annoying as possible. When the pizzas were ready, Wheeler practically devoured his, finding he was hungrier than he had thought. He washed the pizza down with a tall glass of milk, ate some shortbread cookies for desert, and retreated to the guest room to look over the many scenes he had filmed throughout the day.

Wheeler had rewound the tape to its beginning, and he hugged a decorative throw pillow when he saw the massive destruction at Ground Zero on the screen. He was about to fast forward the tape when he noticed something he didn't remember having shot. Apparently when he turned the camera away from his eye and left it running he had unknowingly caught some of the clean-up effort. Rescuers in the uniforms of firefighters, police officers, and medical staff all pulled together as a team, working together to achieve a greater good – the clean up of Ground Zero. They all dug through the rubble in search of any remains they could salvage, and they were intent on clearing away the wreckage as well. This spirit of teamwork amidst the worst destruction the country has ever seen was nothing short of inspirational, and it was this image that made Wheeler decide to include the first part of the video in his tribute – massive debris and all.

Wheeler was so involved in his task that he had completely lost track of time. By the time he had reviewed all of his shots and determined that he had enough for his tribute, it was around 9:30. Wheeler had no sooner turned off his camera when he heard a quiet knock on the bedroom door.

"It's open!" Wheeler called out as he placed the camera on the dresser and flopped back on the bed with his Bible and notebook.

"I'm getting ready for bed, Jesse," Mrs. Summers said as she peeked into the room, "and I just wanted to see if you needed anything."

"I . . . I don't think so," Wheeler shrugged.

"The guest bathroom is the next door over, and there are extra blankets and pillows in the closet if you need them . . . Oh, you may want to keep the door ajar . . . Booger likes to come in here and sleep under the bed."

"No problem," Wheeler answered back, not looking up from his notebook for he was clearly wrapped up in his current activity.

"I never put an alarm clock in here, so would you like me to wake you up around 8:00 tomorrow morning?

"Sounds okay to me," wheeler said, looking up briefly and returning his attention to what he was writing in his notebook.

"Aren't you going to show me how your project is coming?" the lady cheerfully asked, trying to sound like a curious child who wanted to know what her Christmas presents were.

"And ruin the surprise . . . no way!" Wheeler held the notebook against his chest. "I'm not ready for anyone to see it yet. When I get it done, I'm gonna make copies for you and my family."

"Do yourself a favor, Jesse . . . make as many copies as you need, but keep the original for yourself. You are still getting over this too, and you may need to see your tribute a few times to help you deal with your feelings better."

Wheeler hadn't thought of keeping his own copy of the tribute, but Mrs. Summers had a point. "Yeah, I'll do that."

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" When Wheeler shook his head, she quietly said, "Pleasant dreams," before stepping out and leaving the door cracked enough so Booger could gain access to the room.

Wheeler wanted to continue taking notes and finding Bible verses that would go well with the scenes he had shot, but his eyelids grew heavy, and he had trouble holding his tired head up. He laid the books on the night stand, made sure the window blinds were drawn and got ready for bed.

When he slid under the covers, he was ready to fall asleep, but an unexpected, four-legged roommate had just awoken from one of his naps, and he wanted a playmate. Seeing that the bed under which he would sleep was occupied he leaped on top of the blankets and scampered up Wheeler's back. Purring, he began to box at the man's head, and then he decided it would be fun to take hold of a lock of Wheeler's hair and tug. The next two hours were a battle of wits between Planeteer and pet, and Wheeler was certain he would not get a good night's sleep. By midnight, Booger, exhausted after his burst of energy crawled under the bed and purred until he fell asleep. Wheeler soon lost consciousness after having checked to see that the kitty hadn't pulled out any of his hair.

A vague dream in which Hoggish Greedly was running a barbecue stand to feed the rescuers at Ground Zero ran through Wheeler's head, and he woke up long enough to jot a brief sentence in his notebook. He had fallen asleep again, but it didn't seem to last long enough. Between the natural breaks in the sleep cycle, Wheeler's tendency to stew over his project when awake, and the cat's decision to pounce on the man's legs every time he moved, Wheeler didn't get much rest that night. Sleepless nights were not uncommon to him after the attacks; but, oddly enough, it was nice to be kept awake by something other than grief over the losses he had suffered.

Yet another brief episode of slumber was shattered when Mrs. Summers delivered her wake-up call as promised. Not wanting to move, but knowing he had better get up and have a shower before breakfast, Wheeler rose and dragged his feet into the bathroom to perform his morning ritual.

"Are you going to video tape any more events for your movie?" Mrs. Summers asked as she sliced through a stack of blueberry pancakes.

"I think I have all the scenes I'm gonna need," Wheeler answered, showering his pancakes in maple syrup. "I'm pretty sure I can put the rest of it together back home."

"Do you need to call Captain Planet or the other Planeteers for a ride home, or are you planning to stick around for a while?"

"I would love to hang around for a while, but I feel like I really gotta get this tape done . . . then I can go back to being an active Planeteer again."

"Your mom is going to shoot you when she finds out you came to New York without seeing her," Mrs. Summers pointed out, pretending Wheeler was a naughty child who had just gotten into trouble with her.

Deciding that two could play at that game, Wheeler smirked, "I'm gonna come back to give you guys the tapes, so . . . " He jokingly stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry at the jovial woman who promptly reciprocated.

They both broke into laughter; then they continued to consume their morning meal. When the dishes had been loaded into the dishwasher, Wheeler ducked into his room to get his cell phone. He was able to get through to Gi, who promised to pick him up that afternoon on the condition that they could stop somewhere she could shop for a new pair of capri pants.

"What time is your friend coming for you?" Mrs. Summers asked once Wheeler had returned his cell phone to his backpack.

"Gi said she'd be here around lunchtime. We're gonna stop off and do some shopping before we get back home." Wheeler stashed his pack underneath the coffee table and activated the television with the push of a button.

"After I mailed your package, I found some more of Trevor's things that I want you to have," Mrs. Summers said as she pulled a small box from the top shelf of her front closet.

"But you already gave me his-"

"Now don't hurt my feelings, Jesse. At least take a look at the stuff before you decide whether or not you want it," the generous lady interrupted, strongly determined to see some of her late son's possessions go to another young man who would get as much use and enjoyment out of them as Trevor had.

Realizing that Mrs. Summers needed to do these loving things for him as much as he needed her to listen to him in his time of need, Wheeler opened the box that revealed three tie-dye bandannas and a blast from the past that both he and Trevor believed to have been lost forever.

"No way . . . "Wheeler gasped as he looked incredulously at the gold Timex wrist watch that he had remembered giving his deceased chum for his 16th birthday. "Trevor emailed me and told me he lost this just after he moved into his apartment..."

"It had fallen behind the dresser, and I didn't find it until I had them come and take all his furniture to the Salvation Army. He drove himself crazy wondering where that darn watch went, and all that time . . . "

"Looks like it took a lickin' _and _stopped tickin'," Wheeler quipped as he studied the display that clearly had the wrong time.

"After three years, I'd think it would need a new battery. You can get one when you and your friend go shopping."

"You're . . . gonna give this to me?" Wheeler could not believe that Trevor's mother would let _him _have this inexpensive, yet priceless in sentimental value, gift.

"I can't see it belonging to anyone else. You gave this watch to a friend you loved like a brother . . . now, I'm giving you that same gift out of love and the hopes that you would remember Trevor when you wear it."

Wheeler was so moved by this heart wrenching gesture, that he wrapped the watch in the bandannas, slipped the colorful bundle into the small pocket of his pack, and ran up to hug Mrs. Summers, tears of sentiment and gratitude spilling down his cheeks.

There had been times when Gi treasured solitude when flying through the light blue skies, but the deafening quiet only reminded her that there were no welcome distractions to keep her mind off Wheeler and the solemn state of mind he had been in the day before. She couldn't tell how he was feeling over the phone that morning because the cell phone signal was breaking up so badly that she was lucky to understand his garbled words. She was able to get directions to where he was staying, and she landed the Geo-cruiser in the visitors' parking lot.

She entered the front door and found the stairwell that would lead her to the units on the second floor. When the Asian lady found the door marked 2-c, she knocked and waited patiently for someone to open up and usher her inside. When the door swung open, she was greeted by a red haired man who scooped her up in his arms and gave her such a hearty hug that he actually lifted her off the floor.

"It's so good to see you're feeling better, wheeler, "Gi smiled as Wheeler set her down. "We've all been worried about you."

"I'm doin' fine, Gi . . . I'm almost ready . . . just gotta grab my stuff and say good-bye to Mrs. Summers." He gestured for Gi to enter.

Once Gi was in the living room and had taken a seat on the couch, Wheeler stepped back into the guest room to retrieve his video camera and make sure he hadn't left anything. While she waited, Gi sat back and relaxed – that is until Booger came up and began to happily nip at her left leg.

Startled by the sudden appearance of this kitty and smarting from the play bite he had given her, Gi yelped and aimed her ring directly at his face. "Water!" she said sternly, squirting him with a steady stream of cold water and sending him scrambling across the floor.

"Booger what has gotten into you?" Mrs. Summers exclaimed as she tripped over him just outside the utility room. Seeing her newest visitor, she immediately shifted her attention from feline to human. "Hello there, I'm Beth Summers. You must be here for Jesse."

"Uh . . . yes. He said he'd be right out. My name is Gi." She looked to the older woman with curiosity and asked, "What have you done to wheeler? I haven't seen him in a happy mood since before . . . well before . . ."

"After the World Trade Center fell, people all over the country developed a renewed appreciation for their families. All I did was love Jesse and treat him like he was family . . . which I had been doing since he and Trevor were in nursery school together. I just gave him the emotional support that his dad wouldn't and his mom couldn't give. When you two get back home, love him like he was your brother . . . let him know that he has a safe place to unleash any feelings or questions he will undoubtedly have."

Gi nodded and was about to say something when Wheeler appeared, toting his camera and about to don his backpack. Using words that only could be said by the look in his misting eyes, Wheeler approached Mrs. Summers and squeezed her like a college freshman would a parent he would not likely see for four months.

"You take care of yourself, Jesse; and don't be a stranger. I'm going to want emails and another visit soon." Mrs. Summers hugged him tightly one last time then released him so he and Gi could exit and carry on with their errands.

"I got something to do in Sears," Wheeler said as he sat in the co-pilot's seat and strapped himself in. "I can take care of it while you're looking at the capri pants."

"I'm curious . . . what do you have to do?" Gi turned the key in the ignition, activating the solar-powered vehicle.

"This . . . " Wheeler answered as he bent down and produced the watch from the bag and unwrapped it. "I gave it to Trevor when he turned 16 . . . needs a new battery."

"Mrs. Summers gave it to you?"

"She didn't want anyone else to have it," was all wheeler said before tucking the bandannas back into the pack and fastening the shiny band around his right wrist. He remembered that Trevor had always liked bands with a small clasp, but it felt a little to constricting for his taste. On top of that, he knew that once he gained back the weight he had lost, there would be no way he could fit the watch anymore.

The shopping mall was not to far away, and it only took a minute or two to land the cruiser into a parking slot outside of Sears. The Planeteers crossed the parking lot and pushed the heavy glass doors open, entering the women's clothing department.

"I'll meet you at the check-out stand in about . . . half an hour," Wheeler stated once he saw Gi migrate straight to a rounder that held capri pants of varying colors and patterns.

"That's it?" Gi, the shop-aholic shot back.

"If it were up to you, we'd be here until the year 2003," Wheeler remarked as he headed for the escalator that would take him down to the jewelry department.

As Gi began to rifle through the rack, an elderly woman, who was at another rounder behind her, quietly snickered to herself. "Young love," she thought as she preceded to the next rack that contained pastel polo shirts.

It was fortunate that Wheeler had designated a half hour to be enough time for each Planeteer to do his or her respective errand. A long line at the jewelry counter was a test of Wheeler's patience. There was only one salesperson behind the counter, so he could understand why a high volume of customers would produce a long wait. But when a very indecisive little girl could not make up her mind exactly which pair of earrings she wanted, he started to fidget, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and occasionally leaning in the edge of the glass countertop that housed the chain link bracelets and necklaces.

"Samantha, you have to the count of five," the child's mother ordered, noticing the disgusted looks on wheeler and other customers' faces, ". . . and if you don't choose a pair by then, we're going home, with or without the earrings."

The little girl aimed her best puppy-dog eyes at her mother, only to have her plan foiled by her mother's refusal to give in.

"You're keeping all these nice people waiting. Now . . . one . . . two . . . three-"

Before the mother could reach number four, Samantha pulled a card down that sported a pair of gold stars. Finally, it was Wheeler's turn at the counter, and he not only replaced the dead battery, he bought a stretchy, gold band that would make the watch a lot more comfortable for him now and once he returned to his normal weight.

As soon as Gi paid for her pants and Wheeler got his watch in working order, they hooked up again and ate lunch together at the food court before heading back to Hope Island. As soon as they left the cruiser, they found that an unexpected welcoming party was anticipating their arrival. Wheeler had only a couple of seconds to step into the sandy ground before he was showered with hugs and greetings from Gaia and the other Planeteers, who were overjoyed to see him come home with a smile on his face.

Now that Wheeler had the video shots for his tribute, the time had come to gather the audio segments. Wheeler searched through his CD collection and found he didn't have the tracks he wanted to use, so he brought up his music site and began to download songs that he thought would go well as background for the video segments. When searching for "Imagine", he found not only the original but other versions as well. He especially liked the version that came from the Quantum Leap soundtrack, and the song earned a place for itself on the CD he planned to burn.

For days, Wheeler engaged in a very reclusive and mysterious lifestyle. He wanted his tribute to be as much of a surprise to his fellow Planeteers as to his family and friends. He said nothing to anyone about what he was doing, and he dodged the subject if he happened to be cross-examined by a curious Planeteer or inquisitive spirit. When Wheeler stepped into the common room to borrow the VCR, he was met by two inquiring Planeteers who, like wet nosed little children, couldn't wait for an answer.

"How is your movie coming?" Linka asked as she shifted her position on the couch.

"It's coming," was all Wheeler was so inclined to say.

"Will you be finished with it soon?"

"I'll get done with it when I get done with it," Wheeler stubbornly refused to yield.

"Why are you to borrowing the VCR when you have one of your own in your hut, Yankee?" Linka queried as she watched her American comrade disconnect the machine from the TV.

"Don't worry; I'll bring it back in the morning. Does someone wanna tape somethin' tonight?" Wheeler cleverly sidestepped Linka's question and then made a face at Ma-ti. "I know what you're thinking" little buddy, and if you try to use your heart power to find out what I'm doin" . . . let's just say I practically invented the zone-out." With that he stalked out with the VCR In hand.

"Bozhe Moy. He is being just impossible!" Linka declared

as she slapped the couch's arm rest with the palm of her hand.

"He is certainly keeping all of us in the dark with this project." Acting against Wheeler's advice not to use his power, Ma-ti smirked and used his ring in order to tap into the New Yorker's mind, only to read a thought that brought him to laughter. "He was not kidding. He really does know how to block his thoughts."

"What is so funny?" Linka couldn't help cracking a smile at the Kyapo's laughter.

"He is thinking about . . . plastic, pink elephants about 4 feet in height . . . dancing and jumping around " Ma-ti severed the mental connection when he burst out into laughter, almost falling off the couch. "They were doing the twist with poodle skirts on!"

"Sounds like Wheeler has been watching Happy Days," Linka giggled as she conjured up her own image of what Ma-ti was actually seeing. "I am afraid Wheeler's video will have to remain a mystery. We will just have to wait until he is ready to show it to us."

The encounter in the living room was not the last Wheeler would face that night. When he decided to take a break and walk along the beach he experienced more than a gentle wind blowing through his hair.

"Have you finished your project, Wheeler?" Gaia asked as she approached and startled the artistic youth.

"Not you too, Gaia!" Wheeler complained as he threw up his hands and allowed them to fall to his sides. "You're as bad as the other Planeteers. This morning at breakfast, Gi thought she could trick me into spillin' my guts; Kwame took an extra long time pullin the weeds around my hut, hopin' to overhear somethin'; Linka and Ma-ti are playin' 20 questions and using telepathy; and now you wanna cross examine me!"

Everyone's just curious," Gaia tried to explain, "Nobody can resist a mystery, and you've been tempting all of us with a good one."

"Then you're gonna have to let this one go unsolved for now," Wheeler dug in his heels, refusing to give in. "I don't wanna ruin the surprise."

"You know, Wheeler," Gaia decided to change the subject and, hopefully, get Wheeler out of this cross mood, "I'm very proud of you. When the Trade Towers first fell and you completely shut down, I was really worried about you. You were so lost and unsure what to do to help yourself, and we all felt helpless because we didn't have any idea how to get you through your condition . . . and now you woke up and decided to put this video tribute together. I realize you may never completely get over the events of September 11, but I believe you've really come a long way . . . and you will come out even stronger than before. It's the survivor in you that freed you from your trauma, and that part of you will get you through anything life decides to throw your way."

Wheeler wasn't used to hearing such praises, and his cheeks turned pink with Gaia's words. After a pause of about ten seconds, he cracked a half smile and thanked Gaia for her pep talk simply by looking to her with eyes that mirrored his gratitude. When he finally was able to find words to say, he had a favor to ask of the spirit. "Gaia . . . would you get a message to the others for me? I have to do some recordings open-mike, and any background noises will ruin them. I don't wanna be disturbed if I'm gonna get this video done."

"How will they know when it's okay to drop in again?" Gaia had no problem honoring Wheeler's wish, but she wanted to know what to tell the others in case they had any questions about how and when to contact the pyro-Planeteer.

Wheeler stopped to think for a moment, and an idea came to him. "I got it," he announced to his company before starting back for his hut. Once there, he stepped inside and reemerged with one of his new bandannas. "As long as this is on the door, nobody should even knock or call or anything," he instructed as he knotted the colorful cloth around his front doorknob. "When it comes off, they can talk to me again."

Wheeler spent a long, yet productive night working on his brain-child. He was so wrapped up in his endeavor that he completely lost track of time. By the time he had completed his tribute, it was 5:30 in the morning, and he dreaded the thought of getting up in two and a half short hours. Leaving the bandanna tied around the doorknob, he did his normal nightly rituals and climbed into bed with his Bible. However he only had time to open the book and focus on the verse on which he left off during his last devotional before he fell into a deep and well deserved slumber.

It was well after lunchtime when Wheeler finally awoke and had his shower. He made up his mind that he would travel to the mainland and have the video professionally copied and then distribute them to Mrs. Summers, his parents, and his great uncle Nicho. Realizing that visits to his family and friends would result in invitations to share a meal or spend the night, he resolved that he would have the copies made, return to Hope Island for the night, and make his deliveries the next day. That way, he would be able to share a meal at each home.

His assumptions had proven to be true as the following day unfolded. Armed with his video copies, the redhead rose around 8:00 and immediately got ready for his full day. He boarded the eco-copter and set a course for the northeastern United States. After eating breakfast with Nicho, lunch with Mrs. Summers and dinner with his parents and Trish, Wheeler made his return trip to Hope Island.

"Wheeler, it is almost 10:00," Ma-ti pointed out as the North American Planeteer entered the common room

"Didn't you guys see the message I left on my dry erase board?"

"Da," Linka replied after sipping on a mug of warm milk with cinnamon, "but we did not expect you to be gone so long, Yankee."

"Sorry about that, it just took me a little longer to do what I had to do on the mainland." Wheeler produced the original copy of his tribute tape and set it on the shelf on which his store bought videos sat.

"Your tape is finally done?" Gi assed as she sat in the rocking chair with a cup of tea in her hands.

"I talked with my family and Mrs. Summers, and we're all gonna watch the video at the exact same time tomorrow. Ma and Mrs. Summers both have three-way on their cells, and they're gonna patch in to Uncle Nicho. At 8:46 tomorrow morning, it's showtime."

"Then we must get to bed, so we can have breakfast before it is time to play the tape," Kwame suggested as he headed for the kitchen and deposited his empty water glass into the sink.

"We can still stay up and watch the 11:00 news and go to bed right after it goes off," Linka suggested as she set her mug on the drink coaster to her right. "If we need to we can wake up, watch the tape, and eat after it is over."

"That is an excellent suggestion, Linka. We can all set our alarms for a quarter after eight, be able to shower, and still play the video at 8:46." Kwame settled onto the couch next to the Russian.

"I thought Cap and Gaia would wanna see it too," Wheeler said as he heated up some milk in hopes that it would help him sleep.

"Good idea. We can summon Cap and find Gaia just before we go in to see the video," Ma-ti agreed.

As soon as the news had broadcast and gone off the air for another day, the Planeteers retired to their huts, intending to awaken early enough to shower and call Cap and Gaia. Unfortunately, a series of overcast days resulted in the draining of the alarm clocks' solar batteries, and none of them sounded off at the designated time. However, Wheeler, who had decided to use the alarm from his new watch, woke up to the time piece's quiet, rhythmic beeps. To his horror, he looked at the display and found that he had made a mistake in setting the wake up time.

Oh, no!" he cried out as he leaped from his bed, threw on his bathrobe, and dropped his cell phone into the pocket. Wheeler zoomed out of his hut and banged on Gi, Linka, Kwame, and Ma-ti's doors. "Get up! We only have about fifteen minutes to call Cap and get Gaia if we're gonna start the tape on time!" he shouted as he pounded on each door.

As Linka, Gi, Kwame, and Ma-ti were quickly tumbling from their beds and donning their bathrobes, Wheeler doubled back to his hut to get his beanbag chair. Within a minute or two, everyone gathered in the common room; and Gaia, having seen the five scrambling to this location, wasted no time in appearing there as well. Without a second to spare, the Planeteers raised their right fists.

"Let our powers combine . . . Earth!"

"Fire!"

"Wind!"

Water!"

"Heart!"

The five colored beams converged and formed the blue skinned hero who immediately landed onto the floor, sensing that there was no time for the announcement of powers combining or the call, 'Go Planet!'.

Cap, Kwame, and Ma-ti promptly planted themselves onto the couch; Linka threw herself into the rocker; Gi dropped to a large pillow on the floor; Wheeler flopped into his beanbag; and Gaia stood close by. By the time Wheeler fed his masterpiece into the VCR and clutched the remote in his right hand, his cell phone rang.

"Yeah, Ma . . . I got it . . . "He kept a careful eye on his watch and waited for the time to read 8:46 a.m. "Three . . . two . . . one!" With that he pushed the play button on the remote, bringing his opus to life.

As the video opened, an American flag flashed across the screen before revealing the New York City skyline, including the ill-fated twin towers, and Enya's "Only Time" began to play. Soon, the music dropped slightly in volume, and Wheeler's voice joined the mix.

"On Monday, September 10, 2001, two matching towers stood tall and seemed indestructible; children were studying American History from text books; people were lining up in front of movie theaters and amusement parks; we were scrambling, too busy to spend any time with our families and friends; and hard-working

Executives were running to the Almighty Dollar."

The skyline faded to the rubble that was once the World Trade Center, and Wheeler's voiceover continued as the chorus of Don Hendley's "New York Minute" replaced "Only Time".

"But on Tuesday, September 11, Those two towers fell like a house of playing cards; children were watching American history on TV; people were lining up in front of blood banks and recruiting offices; we dropped everything in order to spend time with our families and friends; and everybody was running to their Almighty Creator."

As the shots of the rescue workers and their demonstration of devoted team work appeared, Mariah Kary's "Hero: began to Play.

"September 11 brought out a renewed spirit of team work in The Big Apple. Rescue workers went above and beyond the call of duty, doing the back breaking task of cleaning away the World Trade Center rubble. Countless civilians did everything they could to help the rescue and clean-up effort. Even people who only thought about themselves and their own personal gain volunteered their time with the intent of helping strangers who needed them."

As a gentle piano instrumental version of "Amazing Grace" began to play, Scenes of outdoor worship services and other church held vigils showed on the screen.

"Bibles disappeared from store shelves as quickly as American flags did, and people who looked to God for feelings of security and reassurance read scriptures over and over again. Before the attacks, church attendance was not at the top of many people's list, but this tragedy taught them just how fragile life really is. Some people wanted to know why the United States was attacked, and they fled to churches in search of a feeling of peace again." As Psalm 121:3 flashed across the bottom of the screen, wheeler quoted, "He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber. Others found themselves in Sunday services in search of comfort after having lost a friend or loved one. There were people who felt very much alone, and they were comforted in knowing that even if they were widowed or orphaned they had a Heavenly Father who would never leave them." As Psalm 145:18

flashed at the bottom of the screen, Wheeler cited another scripture, "The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth."

The image of Nicho's spray painting the American flag onto that wall faded in. As the scenes of the mural's completion and the addition of victims' names next to it unfolded, Lee Greenwood's "Proud to Be an American" played in the background. During this segment, Wheeler did no voice-over; instead, he was seen on the video spray painting his childhood chum's name on that wall.

The finale of Wheeler's tribute featured various home video clips of the late and beloved Trevor Summers and Debbie Terrelli. Clips from Christmas gatherings, family reunions, class events and graduation ceremonies immortalized these two special people, and Wheeler resumed his voice over while the second verse and chorus of "Imagine" played in the background.

"What's the difference between the victims of September 11 and you or me? There is no difference. These people started their day like they would start any other. They went to work; they visited friends; they took business trips or vacations. If not for nineteen men who hijacked planes with plans to crash them, those people would still be here today. They did nothing wrong, and they did not deserve to die; so we cannot let their deaths be in vain. We must remember them fondly and think of them often, especially on holidays and special occasions. We should keep the flags flying high, not only to express our patriotism, but to remember those we lost in the worst terrorist attack in our countries history."

The last sequence to appear on the video was that of an American flag waving in the wind. As a recording of a band rendering, "God Bless America" played, Wheeler closed out his tribute by saying:

"For those of us who are old enough to remember what happened on that horrible Tuesday, the date of September 11, 2001 will be remembered as a day on which we gained a new appreciation for our freedom, and a day on which our lives were changed forever."

Author's note: It is Friday, September 19, 2003, and September 11 lives on in our memories and our hearts.Unfortunately, the burst of patriotism is deflating, and we are in danger of slipping back into complacency. We must continue to honor our loved ones who were lost in the attacks and our military who are constantly placing themselves in harm's way to protect us on the home front. We need to keep our flags flying high; and we should pay tribute to our country by praying for our military, those who were touched by the terrorist attacks, and our leaders whose jobs became much more difficult because of those attacks. It is sad to think that it took a national tragedy to pull us all together, and it is my hope that we can remember that close knit spirit and continue to pull together even during the quiet times. God bless.


End file.
